


Kirsten Mackey

by OrsFri



Series: this song reminds me of you, she says [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Confessions, M/M, Unrequited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-31 15:24:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10902099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrsFri/pseuds/OrsFri
Summary: "I love you, not the specific kind of way that you seem to feel for me, but the overwhelming, overarching meaning of love, the kind that creeps up on you in an overwhelming sense of fondness and loyalty, of non-expectations and dedication; of wanting and needing you to be happy."Sequel/Side-B to M.N.H





	Kirsten Mackey

**Author's Note:**

> Oh wow I am on a roll with this, and it’s not in a good way. M.N.H occurs somewhere at the end of this fic.

Embarrassingly, Gilbert is never good with saying no, and rejection, for him, somehow, always explodes like glass shards that pierce everyone within the vicinity.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and swallows everything else.

* * *

“I know this is going to sound stupid but,” Emily says, worrying her bottom lip as she leans against the divider, “I think Ivan likes me? I mean, there are all these signals, and I don’t want to sound egoistic, but -”

No, Gilbert thinks. He wants to yell that no, Ivan doesn’t like you, Ivan likes _me -_ he touches you sure, but he is much more tactile than he will ever lead you to believe. He makes references to your conversations in _code,_ sure, but we have the _exact same conversations,_ the same scenario and the same topic, only that it progresses in very different directions; it’s not just a hint to you, it’s also a jab at _me._

“- and I want to reject him, but I don’t want to, well, hurt his feelings, so -”

 _He puts his arms around my neck while peeking over my shoulders to read what I’m writing. I leaned into it without thinking, and he tenses up before forcing himself to relax right away, and I didn’t even realise. God, why am I so stupid._ “Yeah sometimes I get that vibe too. He’s not very aware when it comes to social flirting cues.”

“I’m not being overly sensitive for thinking that he likes me right?” Emily starts twisting a loose strand of hair. “I really don’t want to lead him on.”

“Nah, I’ll try and deter him,” Gilbert assures, and thinks about how _he_ himself does not want to lead Ivan on. “See how it goes.”

“Thanks, Gilbert, you’re the best,” Emily chirps and blows him a kiss before heading back to her cubicle. Gilbert stares after the swishing of her skirt, and wishes he can find a solution as easily as Emily can.

* * *

That’s a nice sweater,“ Ivan comments, once, and Gilbert let’s him play with his overly long sleeves for a moment, lets Ivan holds his hand absently, because Gilbert knows how much Ivan craves for touch and how much comfort he finds in comfortable coldwear. 

In hindsight, it’s pretty obvious since then, and it’ll continue to be pretty obvious after that, but Gilbert doesn’t like to think about things like that and so he simply… doesn’t. In hindsight, that is also a pretty stupid decision, considering that Gilbert is now staring down at a text message from Ivan, asking if he’ll go catch a movie this Saturday.

It’s in the late evening, and the theatre Ivan chose is somewhere in the more posh side of the city, and Gilbert… knows.

 _I should turn him down,_ he thinks, but then he remembers how excited Ivan is about the movie, and he revises, _I should do something about the timing._

So he sends something back about how he needs to liaise with his colleague to co-edit some up-and-coming prodigy writer, and that means he may not be able to get shit done by this week, _how about next Friday?_

Ivan’s reply comes too slow, and it looks like he is trying to play it off by being chill, but Gilbert - Gilbert knows.

He tries not to dwell in it. 

* * *

The realisation that Ivan likes him dawns slowly, like the slow unfurling of leaves at dawn as the sun peers curiously over the horizon.

Ivan is smiling at something Gilbert said, dimples sharp and deep in his cheeks, and then he leans into Gilbert’s space a little too obviously, too fondly, and somehow all the memories add up at once and Gilbert. Gilbert knows.

It’s too comfortable a moment for Gilbert to move away, and he doesn’t want to destroy this (whatever this is: the peace, the calm, Ivan,-  their _friendship,_ because damn if Gilbert ever tells Ivan but this thing they have has been so precious to Gilbert, he can’t give it up), not in the slightest. He plays up his obliviousness, and he pretends that he doesn’t even notice, and continues chattering on and on until he is sure Ivan is already drowning in the sound of his voice.

* * *

Gilbert doesn’t really do slow music. He’s fine with the occasional instrumental, and especially the woodwinds (since, you know, when you play a certain instrument you develop a personal bias towards it, and the likes), but his general music taste gears towards electronica and sweet, loud, metal and rock.

But Ivan, funnily enough, likes _Arctic Monkeys,_ of all things. It’s just weird seeing someone who is built like a bear and writes the most depressing lit Gilbert has ever had to edit, liking mainstream indie rock. And it’s all just fun and games, Gilbert teasing him gently while finding it all amusingly odd, until one day in the midst of a conversation, Ivan drops the fucking bomb..

"You know, it kinds of remind me of you,” Ivan lets slip, and immediately looks poised to take back everything he has ever said in the past two hours.

And damn his fucking curiosity, but Gilbert decides to listen to the song, and then the lead singer goes, _do I wanna know, if this feeling flows both ways,_ and Gilbert goes _oh,_ and Gilbert knows.

He never brings it up again, and Ivan doesn’t push, but Gilbert can see it in Ivan’s gaze, the careful way he checks his words and looks at Gilbert, as though he is searching for something that Gilbert refuses to let him see. 

Time passes. Eventually, even Ivan lets it drops. Gilbert’s more relieved than he should be, and it makes him feel more guilty than he ever thought possible.

 _Fucking hell,_ Gilbert thinks, just as he refreshes his inbox. A new mail lights up, showing Ivan’s name, with an attachment simply titled “New Manuscript”. 

Gilbert blinks, gets up to get a bottle of Jack (because beer can’t do it when it comes to Ivan; it’s not strong enough), and sifts through his other assignments instead. 

* * *

The crux of the problem, he knows, is that Ivan has this idealised image of Gilbert. Gilbert is… Gilbert is fucked up, alright, has been since he was a teenager and realised that his parents had not gone wrong with him, his school hadn’t, his _friends_ haven’t, but somehow, he manages to fuck himself up. 

But the way Ivan sees him, and this Gilbert always knows, is the side that Gilbert choose to present to him: loud and vivacious and bold. The Gilbert that Ivan sees is someone who wears his skin comfortably and reveals too little by saying too much, and this thing draws Ivan in, makes Ivan wants to see if he can live through Gilbert, and that’s - that’s wrong, because if Gilbert can’t even help himself, how the fuck will he support Ivan, much less help him?

“We’ll kill each other in a week,” Gilbert says aloud to the empty apartment, and no, it’s not the same as going for travels and tours, because those are temporary. Gilbert can handle temporary. He can be responsible and get his shit together for a few weeks. A relationship is more than a few weeks, and more than some hours of responsibility. Frankly, he has neither the emotional strength nor commitment necessary for anything more these days. He can’t be what Ivan needs. He _isn’t_ what Ivan wants. “This is so fucking stupid.”

Ivan’s manuscript - his meagre three damned chapters - only served to hammer into his brain how much of a mess this is. Fuck, _Anthony_ is obviously based on him, shitty name aside, and the story is obviously building up to the protagonist trying to come to terms with this feelings as he navigates a blatantly oppressive and homophobic society. This is not the type of book written to excite and suspend; it is a story written to _hurt,_ to evoke tears in the eyes and leave you feeling empty for a few days before the emotions wear off and life goes on again. 

And this is, most obviously, a love letter dedicated to Gilbert, and fuck if Gilbert knows how to handle a confession when he’s been running away from _this one_ ever since he realises Ivan crushes on him, all those months ago.

It takes too long for him to conjure up the courage to pick up his phone, and longer still to type out a message that he deems suitable enough to send. 

He almost topples off his chair when Ivan calls. 

He answers the phone, and of course it is Arctic Monkeys playing in the background, of course.

 _I’m sorry to interrupt it’s just I’m constantly -_ “ You know, the only way this can be more pathetic is if I'm jerking off right now." 

 _\- On the cusp of trying to kiss you._ "What the fuck,” Gilbert replies, and tries fervently to ignore the background music. 

He can almost sense the bitter smile in Ivan’s reply, and Gilbert braces himself.

Through the music, Ivan whispers silently,  _But we could be together, if you wanted to,_ and Gilbert thinks, no, we can’t, I’m sorry but _I can’t._

* * *

The call ends and Gilbert buries his face in his palms, and he thinks, he _knows_ that, he can learn to love Ivan, if he wants to.

But the crux of it is that Gilbert is selfish and he can’t live with himself if he lives only in bits and pieces, and Gilbert doesn’t want to date Ivan only to have Ivan fall out of love with him when Ivan sees Gilbert for the mess he really is.

It’s not fair, he thinks bitterly, and gets up to the kitchen to get himself a bottle of Jack to mix with his coffee. 

* * *

“I’m sorry,” Gilbert says, because he has months to come to terms with this, and he doesn’t feel that way, never has and never will, never know the strong intense emotion of attraction and romance, the way Ivan does, and he is too scared to lose the one good thing he has for a very long time.

Ivan takes it well, because that is the only way he can take it, the same way he takes all the shit life tosses his way with his writing and his hallucinations and the million and one problems that plagues Ivan’s every step. 

And Gilbert thinks: I love you, not the specific kind of way that you seem to feel for me, but the overwhelming, overarching meaning of love, the kind that creeps up on you in an overwhelming sense of fondness and loyalty, of non-expectations and dedication; of wanting and needing you to be happy. And I can’t do this to you, because I can’t do this to myself. 

Gilbert knows. Gilbert deletes the email, because he isn’t sure if it’s still possible for them to work together after this, and creates a new email message addressed to his superior. 

**Author's Note:**

> It’s two a.m. and I can’t sleep because I can’t stop thinking and so instead of working that ridiculously fun and happy fic, I engage in self-indulgent fics like this.


End file.
